


Wind

by GallifreyanAtHearts



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: M/M, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8798266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanAtHearts/pseuds/GallifreyanAtHearts
Summary: Juno hates himself for disappointing Nureyev.  He hates his body, his weaknesses, hates his lungs.  But for Peter Nureyev, he's willing to try to be better.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is me, willfully ignoring the last minute of the Final Resting Place

Sometimes it feels to Juno as if he needs Peter Nureyev more than he needs the air in his lungs.  Nureyev’s off planet ventures leave Juno light-headed, like he can’t think straight.  The only difference between oxygen deprivation and Nureyev’s absence is that at least oxygen deprivation puts him to sleep, while Nureyev’s absence frequently leaves him sleepless.

That being said, Juno also needs air in his lungs.  It’s not that he’s easily winded, but that, well, sometimes it’s hard for him to catch his breath when fighting, or running, or climbing stairs, or.... or when fucking.  Sometimes.  Listen he’s not proud of it okay, but that’s just how he is.  He suspects that growing up in smoggy, weakly shielded Oldtown may have permanently damaged his lung capacity; it had certainly been a factor in his asthmatic childhood.  Maybe he’s just not as young as he used to be.

Nureyev never says anything, never seems upset when sometime Juno needs to stop for a second.  Nureyev takes the opportunities to run his finger’s through Juno’s hair, or give him light kisses along his jaw or shoulder or thigh.

That doesn’t stop Juno from feeling like he’s disappointing him.  Still, there’s not much Juno can think to do about it.  Juno’s done the cardio thing before in the past, and it helps his endurance for as long as he keeps it up everyday.  It just seems that some days the time melts through his fingers, and he tells himself that missing a day wouldn’t hurt, but one day always became two, two became three, until it's been a month and throwing a couple of punches leaves him winded again.

It’s particularly bad one evening, and as Juno labors to even his breathing, Nureyev hovers above him, nuzzling his nose to Juno’s ear, murmuring about how much he will miss Juno while he’s away.  At the words, Juno unthinkingly looks at the clock and feels a pang, knowing that in mere hours from now, Nureyev will be on an interplanetary flight to God knows where, to do God knows what.  Juno doesn’t want to know.  It’s even worse, because Nureyev has no idea how long he’ll be gone.  “ _More than four days, but definitely less than four weeks,”_  he had said when Juno had asked.

Juno looks back up at Nureyev, who lifts his head from Juno’s shoulder to meet Juno’s gaze.  Juno knows again in that moment that though Nureyev would do most anything for Juno, there are some things that he won’t give up.  And as his heaving chest slows its rising and falling, he reaches to touch Nureyev’s face, guiding it towards his own, into a kiss that signals that Juno is ready to continue.

Nureyev breaks the kiss after an everlasting moment, for the duration of which, Juno can forget who he is, who he has been, and who he will be, all knowledge replaced with just the conviction of how much he needs the man he is kissing.

It’s now Nureyev’s turn to look at the clock and he frowns, and Juno’s heart skips a beat.

“I’m sorry, Juno.”  Nureyev says quietly, not looking at Juno, but at the packed suitcase by the bedroom door.  “I have to get dressed.”

It feels as if he’s winded all over again, and he can’t find the air to beg Nureyev to stay.  He closes his eye and tries to keep his face neutral.  He doesn’t think he manages it, especially when he feels Nureyev press a tender kiss to his forehead and murmur another apology and something about a shower.  And then Nureyev’s comforting weight is gone and in another moment, Juno hears the water running.

He feels deflated, defeated.  Angry at his body for its weakness.  A body that cannot even give Nureyev a proper goodbye fuck.  He feels revulsion.

And he feels conviction.

Juno stares at the open bathroom door, steam pouring out, and he breathes in its humidity, even as he hears the shower turn off.  He’s going to make it stick this time.  No matter what, he decides as Nureyev’s slim form emerges from the cloud of steam.  He watches, enraptured as Nureyev pats his hair with a towel, entirely nude.  He wants to reach out and touch, to kiss, and do all the things he doesn’t deserve to do to Peter Nureyev, but is infinitely thankful for the opportunity to do anyway.

Nureyev clearly jerked off in the shower, Juno recognizes this immediately, and his disgust with himself grows with the anger at himself for being unable to satisfy Nureyev.

He wants to be better for this man.  The man that he...

Nureyev knows that Juno is staring.  It would be hard to miss, even though Juno only has one eye to stare with.  Sometimes, Juno misses his eye because he misses having two to look at Nureyev with, even more than he misses shooting.

Even so, Nureyev makes quick work of getting dressed, and dressed impeccably.  Juno craves the feel of his skin as it disappear underneath each garment that Nureyev puts on.  When he’s done, Nureyev stands at the foot of the bed.

“How do I look, darling?” Nureyev asks lightly, straightening the lapel of his sports coat.  Juno can’t answer, his breath caught in his throat.  “Speechless, hm?”  Nureyev teases with a devastatingly flirtatious grin, and Juno nearly falls off the bed to get near him, crashing into Nureyev’s arms.

“Walk me to the door?”  Nureyev says and Juno just nods against Nureyev’s neck, his arms constricting around Nureyev’s shoulders, a silent plea, tinged with possessiveness.  “Perhaps then, pants are in order?” and Nureyev delicately frees himself from Juno’s grip.  Juno plants his feet unsteadily on the floor and finds a clean pair of underwear, which he puts on and then meets Nureyev in the so called living room of the apartment.  Nureyev doesn’t say anything about the compromise Juno's made in the pants department.

Juno reaches to carry Nureyev’s bag, but is stopped.

“Now, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you carry my bags for me?” He asks and Juno can’t help but let out a laugh at the antiquated notion.  It comes out a little more crazed than he would like.  Nureyev smiles at having made Juno laugh and Juno can’t help but kiss him.

It’s a slow burn of a kiss, time slowing to a crawl around them.  Juno wishes that time would stop altogether.

And then Nureyev is gone and Juno summons a shaky breath.

“Peter.”  He calls softly, almost too late, Nureyev half out the door.  Nureyev stops short and is still.  Juno approaches from behind him, wrapping his arms around Nureyev’s shoulders and chest.  Juno can feel Nureyev’s chest rise and fall evenly, slowly, waiting.  “Come home soon.”  He mumbles into the fabric of Nureyev’s jacket.  “Be careful.  Be safe.”

Nureyev turns, gently breaking Juno’s hold on him.

“I will.”  He promises and then he’s gone, leaving Juno breathing in the smell of him off the empty space around him.

* * *

 

The next morning Juno wakes early to an empty bed and remembers the previous night.  All his conviction and revulsion comes barreling back at him like a freight train and he heaves himself out of bed.

Jogging is.... Hell.  Shit, there are better ways of doing cardio, he’d love to box or something but a partner costs money.  Dragging himself around the block does not.

He’d literally rather die than do this ever again, he thinks as he heaves for breath in front of his apartment building, not that that means very much, considering.  He heads inside when he can make himself move, and stares at the elevator longingly for a second, before his gaze slides to the stairwell door and he sighs with whatever air is in his lungs.  He makes it up the stairs to the third floor, absolutely winded, garnering some odd looks, but he’s made it.  He thinks about getting ready to head into the office and groans.

* * *

 

Day after day he torments himself, which is not wholly unusual, but this is different.  He thinks of Nureyev’s face, carefully neutral as he left Juno alone in bed.  And the disgust he feels fuels him, tapping into bursts of energy the Juno didn’t know he had.  He picks up a gross old punching bag someone had left out on the curb a few blocks from his apartment and brings it home, splurging on boxing gloves once he’s cleaned and hung the thing in his apartment.

And he goes on this way, jogging in the morning, further distances every few days, and hitting the bag after work when he has the energy.  It’s very stress relieving, he finds.

He barely notices the difference until he’s backed against a wall, desperately wishing he had a gun, as he can’t move fast enough to dodge the fist that is flying toward his face.

The impacts hurts like fuck, and it sends Juno’s head crashing back into the wall and, mother of _fuck_ , Juno sees stars.  But then again, Juno’s always had a hard head, or so he’s been told.  And then Juno looses his own fist, which connects with his assailant’s head with a sickening crack and the henchman doubles over with his hands over his nose, blood beginning to seep through his fingers.  Juno swings again and connects with the side of the man’s head and the goon goes down, eyes rolling back.  Juno takes a deep, steadying breath as he daintily steps over the unconscious man, and on some level that he’ll deal with later when there is no immediate danger, he is surprised at his ability to do so.

He makes it back to his office and Rita gasps at the shiner developing around his good eye and he waves off her concern as she lectures him about the benefit of putting frozen vegetables on the bruise.  He tells her brusquely that he is fine and slams the door to his office.  He smiles behind the closed door at Rita’s indignant shouts and opens the door again.  She’s right on the other side, arms crossed.  He represses a fond smile and thanks her gently and she nods, satisfied, and then hands him a chemical cold pack, not as good as frozen peas, she assures, but it’s easier to store in the office.

He tells her he has some paperwork to complete and she shudders as he closes the door again.  He activates the cold pack and sits at his desk, frustrated with the dilemma of wanting to put the pack on his eye, and his consequent lack of his ability to _see_.  He tosses the pack aside and works on his neglected stack of paperwork until long after midnight.  He doesn’t want to go home, the unbearable emptiness of his apartment getting to him after three and a half long weeks.  It’s getting perilously close to Nureyev’s self imposed deadline and Juno doesn’t want to admit how... Worried... He’s getting about it.  And he even less wants to admit how terribly he misses him.

Rita wakes him gently at around two o’clock and chides him to go home.  He wonders what she’s still doing here, but the concern in her eyes gives her motivation away.  She volunteers to drive him home and he wearily accepts.

Like fuck he’s waking up for jogging hell tomorrow.  There’s just no way.  And on the ride home the tendrils self loathing he feels prod at him, telling him it’s all downhill from here again, he may as well get used to being useless, to disappointing Nureyev.  Maybe Peter hasn’t come home yet because he finally realized that he wants and deserves more than Juno can offer him.

Juno wouldn’t blame him.  He feels the tug of resignation in his stomach, feels the futility of his efforts in his chest.

He takes the elevator upstairs.  He can barely keep his feet shuffling towards his apartment.  He fumbles in exhaustion with the keys but he finally gets the door open, and he is temporarily shocked by the living room light, already on, though Juno is certain he turned it off this morning.

And then he spots Peter Nureyev on the couch and Juno is overwhelmed with _something_ between gratitude for Nureyev’s return and horror that Nureyev still hasn’t realized that he deserves better, even after Juno’s failure the night of his departure.

“Well you’re a sight for a sore eye.”  Juno says, pointing to his shiner and then he loses it.

He leaves the door open in his haste to hold Nureyev in his arms.  Nureyev stands, setting his wine glass and book aside on the end table to free his hands.

Juno can hardly believe that Nureyev is here, and he clenches handfuls of Nureyev’s shirt.  He can’t find anything to say so he just presses his face against Nureyev’s chest and breathes deeply.  His exhaustion is fading, giving way to a second (or is it fourth at this point?) wind, energized by the smell and feel of Peter Nureyev in his arms.

“I missed you, too, Juno.”  Juno just tightens his grip, unwilling to let Nureyev see the unwanted tears of hysterical relief and disbelief that are welling up.  Nureyev wiggles an arm free to put his hand under Juno’s chin and tilt his face up towards his own for a kiss.

Juno will never tire of Peter Nureyev’s kisses, soft but insistent.  Nureyev’s lips are ever so slightly chapped, leading Juno to believe that wherever he’s been, they had a real atmosphere with real wind there.

“I was worried you were going to make me wait on the sofa all night.”  Nureyev says when the kiss comes to its end, his lips still so close to Juno’s.

“Thank Rita.”  Juno replies, trying to come in for another intoxicating kiss but Nureyev shifts away and Juno is flooded with hurt, and a voice in his head says _I told you so_.  Juno’s whole body tenses and Nureyev must feel it.  Juno looks down and he feels Nureyev press his forehead to the top of Juno’s head.

“You must be so tired, darling.  Why, you look simply dead on your feet!”  He murmurs.  “We have the morning for kisses, but I would never be selfish enough to take away your much needed sleep.”  Juno relaxes a fraction.  He lets go of Nureyev, who is looking at him so tenderly, Juno feels like shit for doubting him.

“You’re better than sleep any day.”  Juno slides his fingers into Nureyev’s shirt between the buttons, his fingertips grazing skin before his hand can fit no farther.  He withdraws his hand to start deftly undoing buttons.  Nureyev doesn’t move for a moment, seeming to weigh his options, before he gives in and allows Juno to continue.  Juno barely has the two topmost buttons open before he presses his lips to the revealed skin of Nureyev’s chest.  Nureyev tastes perfect and Juno’s hands, seemingly on their own, continue with buttons as Juno follows them with kisses to each new bit of accessible skin, until there are no more buttons left, and Juno is kneeling on the floor, his forehead pressed to Nureyev’s belly, and Nureyev shrugs the shirt off.  

“Bed.”  Nureyev says, and Juno can feel air move through his body with the word under his lips.

“If you think I’m going to sleep before-”  Juno stands, straight backed and indignant, to look defiantly at Nureyev, who presses a slender finger to Juno’s lips.  Juno resists the temptation to bite the finger.

“Juno, dearest, the last time I fucked you on the couch, you needed to see a chiropractor.”

“They were a quack.”  Juno says but acquiesces with Nureyev’s suggestion.  Nureyev grips Juno’s hand and Juno tugs him into the bedroom.  The bed is unmade and there is dirty laundry draped off its edge and Juno will definitely be embarrassed about that later, but for now he sweeps it onto the floor where it is soon joined by the clothes that Juno and Nureyev had been wearing.

Juno’s arms are tightly around Nureyev’s neck and he’s kissing him like there’s no tomorrow, and in both their lines of work, that’s not an infeasible concept.

Nureyev ducks out of Juno’s grasp to bite and kiss at Juno’s collarbone, his pectorals, his abdomen.  He can feel Nureyev moving with the rise and fall of Juno’s chest as he kisses his way to Juno’s hips.  Juno feels Nureyev’s long fingers grip his thigh, hard enough that Juno hopes it will bruise.  He can feel Nureyev’s tongue and teeth on his inner thigh and the sound he makes is half a whine, half a plea.  He knows that Nureyev is teasing, deliberately ignoring Juno’s cock.  Juno threads his fingers through Nureyev’s hair and tugs insistently.  Nureyev lifts his head to look at Juno and Juno can feel his breath, hot on his cock, and Juno watches a smile creep across Nureyev’s lips, his sharp teeth giving the grin a predatory shine, and _fuck,_ but Juno wants to be his prey.

“Pass me the-” Nureyev starts, but Juno already has the hand not in Nureyev’s hair in the nightstand drawer and a second later he all but throws a black bottle with deep crimson labels.  He knows that it is unopened, and to Nureyev at least, unfamiliar, and predictably Nureyev raises an eyebrow at Juno.

“I was at the pharmacy the other day and it caught my eye.”  Juno says breathlessly.  He sees Nureyev eye the label, and somehow his eyebrow raises higher.

“Well let’s see if it holds up to that promise.”  Nureyev says and Juno expels the breath he is holding as a short laugh.

It’s only a moment, before Juno feels Nureyev’s slick fingers, Nureyev’s dexterous hands making quick work of the safety seal, but it feels like an eternity.  The special effects of the lube are lost on Juno because of the way Nureyev moves his fingers, curling them just so and making Juno shake.

“Fuck, you gotta fuck me or I swear to Christ-”  Juno says, his eye closed his neck arched, pressing his head into the pillow, the pressure irritating the lump from hitting a brick wall earlier that evening, but Juno doesn’t care he-

Nureyev withdraws and Juno opens his eyes, prepared to indignantly beg him to continue but Nureyev is still, looking at him, assessing, and Juno gets it.  His chest rises and falls, quickly but deeply and evenly.

“Come _on_ , Nureyev” Juno insists and like that, Nureyev is moving again, and finally, _finally_ fucking him.  Nureyev’s hands steady Juno’s hips as he thrusts but Juno needs to _move._ “Come here.”  Juno demands, breathlessly and Nureyev does, his hands on either side of Juno’s head.  Juno lets out a high pitch noise as the angle of Nureyev’s thrusts shift.  Juno lifts himself to kiss Nureyev, and once again wraps his arms around Nureyev’s neck.  He pulls Nureyev down so that they are chest to chest, hot, sticky skin to hot, sticky skin, and it feels to Juno like their breathing is synchronizing.  Juno’s cock is trapped painfully between his body and Nureyev’s and he _loves_ it.  Juno looks up into Nureyev’s darkened, dilated eyes and knows that he loves this, knows that he wants Juno and only Juno, that he wants Juno all the time, and Juno _knows_ that Nureyev loves him like _this_ , vulnerable beneath him.

“I know you can move faster than that.”  Juno taunts breathlessly and after only a second’s hesitation Nureyev rises to the challenge, panting nonsense in Juno’s ear, mumbled declarations of lust and of love and promises of forever, and then just a string of expletives.

“Is that any way to talk to a lady?”  Juno groans and Nureyev laughs breathlessly and with that, Nureyev comes with a noise in Juno’s ear that Juno wants to spend every waking moment eliciting.  Nureyev is still for a moment, his forehead pressed to Juno’s before he rolls off Juno.

Juno can barely protest before Nureyev’s expertly skilled fingers wrap around Juno’s cock and Juno breathes a moan in relief.  Nureyev’s fingers are quick, nimble and it’s not long before-

“ _Peter_ -”  Juno voice breaks as he all but shrieks as he reaches orgasm.  Nureyev continues to stroke him through his orgasm, elongating it, and after what seems like an eternity, Nureyev is kissing him again. Softly, with no expectation.

Juno’s breathing slows and he finds his voice.

“That was…” he trails off, hoping that Nureyev understands what he's trying to say.

“It was, wasn't it.”  Nureyev smiles a self satisfied smile but his eyes are fixed on Juno.

“Now, I think I can sleep.”  Juno says.  “Or maybe after a shower.”

“The wonderful thing about self employment is that we can both sleep in tomorrow without the risk of angering any employers.”  Nureyev says, still sounding breathlessly dazed, watching Juno as he stands and stretches.

“Maybe.”  Juno says noncommittally.  “Can you deal with the sheets while I shower?”  Nureyev mhm’s and Juno walks into the bathroom.  He doesn't wait for the water to adjust properly to the temperature it's supposedly programmed for, letting it first chill, then scald his skin.  By the time he's finished rinsing the soap off, the water is the right temperature.  When he walks back into the bedroom wrapped in a towel, Nureyev is waiting for the shower, the dirty sheets stripped and the clean one folded at the foot of the bed.  Nureyev is watching him with an unreadable expression.

“What?” Juno demands.

“Wait up for me?” Nureyev asks and Juno nods, picking up the clean sheet and beginning to spread it across the bed.  Juno is perversely grateful that Nureyev hasn’t mentioned that the sheets hadn’t been changed before this since Nureyev himself had done the chore, several days before he left.  Juno also can’t remember doing laundry since before he left and is suddenly mortified, knowing that the clothes Nureyev had taken off of him were pulled from the pile of dirty stuff this morning.

He finishes the task and lays down on his back in bed to wait for Nureyev.  Juno thinks about waking up in four - he looks at the clock - make that three hours to go for a run and the prospect makes him groan, but then his mind supplies him with a replay of the noise Nureyev had made when he came and the whole thing suddenly seems justifiable.

Nureyev emerges from the shower and Juno makes a herculean effort to sit up.  Maybe he should work on abs next.  Like that’ll ever happen.  Juno thinks, not for the first time, that Nureyev looks unreal, like a dream, the kind of dream you wake up from wanting to cry because it will never come to pass.  Nureyev gracefully slips into bed next to Juno, and Juno settles into his side, and all of his earlier exhaustion crashes into him and he yawns.

“Go to sleep.”  Nureyev says through his own yawn, prompted by Juno’s.  “And turn your alarm off.”

“Can’t sleep in tomorrow,” Juno mumbles, closing his eye and breathing deeply the smell of Nureyev’s bodywash.  “But I won’t wake you.”

“Hyperion City won’t implode if you take a morning off.”  Nureyev reasons, his arms constricting around Juno.  The warmth of Nureyev’s body is almost too much for Juno, but Juno’s limbs are too heavy to move, even if he wanted.

“Trust me.”  Juno says and he’s asleep before Nureyev replies.

* * *

 

Waking up is miserable, and extricating himself from Nureyev’s warm limbs is almost more than he can bear and his resolve wavers, but he dresses in the dark and slips out of the apartment.

He spends a miserable hour in the early light dawning on Hyperion City.  He is therefore, grateful to find Nureyev still in bed when he returns, out of breath and covered in sheen of sweat.  He means to get dressed for work but he sees Nureyev’s prone form and aches to wrap himself in Nureyev’s long limbs in bed.  Which means showering, if only for Nureyev’s sake.  He begins to strip, but barely gets gets his shirt off before he hears Nureyev’s voice behind him from the bed.

“Where were you?”  Nureyev ask.  Juno turns and Nureyev is sitting up, watching Juno with a neutral expression but sad, wary eyes.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”  Juno says.

“I’m glad one of us sees the humor in this.”  Nureyev’s voice betrays nothing but Juno sits on the side of the bed and reaches to touch Nureyev’s face.  He feels a knife twist of guilt in his gut.

“I was…” Juno takes a deep breath.  “I was jogging.”

“If you could be serious for once in your life, Juno, I would most appreciate it.”  Nureyev leans out of Juno’s reach.  “If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.  I won’t pry.”

“I really was- I decided it was finally time to do something about my shitty lungs.”  Juno laughs harshly and turns away, sitting hunched on the side of the bed.

Nureyev must have decided that Juno is telling the truth, because he says “Juno, I’m sorry.  I’m all for your good health but… I was worried.  You could’ve told me last night where you were going to go.”

“I need to be better.”  Juno says.

“Mm, especially now that… That taking out bad guys at a distance is less of an option.”  Nureyev speaks carefully, skating the sore subject of Juno’s recent injury.  Juno wishes he would just say it.  Now that Juno can’t shoot.  “Running is a valuable skill.”  Juno could almost laugh but somehow he holds it back.  

“That’s not...No, I need… You should… I need to…”  Juno takes a deep breath.  “If you’re not going to wake up one morning and realize I’m not worth your time, which by the way you should, then I need to at least _try_ to be worth your time.”  Juno says this very fast, not looking at Peter.

Juno feels Nureyev’s arms wrap around him from behind, and Nureyev’s chin on his shoulder, and his breath in his ear.

“Juno, I need you to listen to me very carefully.”  Nureyev sounds as serious as Juno has ever heard him.  “I love you.  If you want to use me as an excuse to take care of yourself, then I am not going to complain, because I want you to take care of yourself.”  Nureyev tugs on Juno, prompting him to turn to face Nureyev.  Nureyev meets Juno’s gaze.  “But never, ever, presume to tell me what is and is not worth my time.  I am the judge of that, and I have obviously judged you to be very worth my time and my affection.”  Juno can’t look away but can’t look at Nureyev either, feeling elated and guilty.  “I know it’s hard, Juno, I know you can’t always help it but please, _please_ , if there is one thing that you can try to do for me?  Try to stop doubting this, doubting us, doubting me.  I love you, as you are and as you will be, and I will always come home to you, no matter where I travel.”  Nureyev pulls Juno toward him and Juno doesn’t resist.

“I’m sweaty.”  Juno mumbles into Nureyev’s skin.

“I don’t care.”

Juno wants very badly to kiss Nureyev but he can’t bring himself to.  “I’m sorry.”

“Leave a note next time you unexpectedly leave me alone in bed.”

“I’m sorry,” Juno repeats.  Nureyev shifts and kisses Juno.  With Nureyev’s lips on his own, Juno feels human.  “I’m going to be better for you, Peter.  Even if it kills me.”  He says when the kiss ends.

“Do try not to let it, darling, I’d be awfully put out.”  Juno can feel Nureyev’s smile against his cheek.

“I’ll try.”

“Excellent.”  Nureyev says delightedly.  “Now, do you want to know what I’ve brought back for you?”

Juno really, really doesn’t, because it’s probably stolen, and worth more than all of Juno’s belongings put together, and it freaks him out but he smiles and grins and pulls back to let Nureyev see.  He is deeply satisfied by Nureyev’s wide smile, and he vows to himself to do everything and anything to keep Nureyev smiling, even if it means taking care of himself.   _This_ , everything about this, Nureyev, himself, _them_ , is at least worth _trying_.


End file.
